


Coffee and Rewards Cards

by roseisreturning



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Ace Beth Week, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Movie Theater, Demisexual Character, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1940949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseisreturning/pseuds/roseisreturning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Soccer Cop movie theater AU written for Ace Beth Week 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee and Rewards Cards

“Hi, Beth!” says Tiny Regular with Bangs. (She’s with Blonde Best Friend today, who is holding tickets for what you’re assuming is the latest Nicholas Sparks movie. Tiny Regular with Bangs really loves Nicholas Sparks movies. The way she carries herself around Slightly-Pudgy Boyfriend makes you think she is _in_ a Nicholas Sparks movie.) “Could we get the number… three? With a lemonade, please.” She glances at Blonde Best Friend. “Could we get a bottled water, too, please?”

“And are you a rewards member?” (She’s not. You’ve asked her this question too many times to count. The answer doesn’t change.)

“No. And no thank you.”

“Okay, that’s $13.23.”

Tiny Regular with Bangs and Blonde Best Friend spend longer than they should trying to figure out how to split the cost before handing you the exact change.

You give them their drinks, their receipt, and their popcorn. They thank you and you thank them, and eventually they make their way to the theater.

You don’t see her until next week.

She is with Slightly-Pudgy Boyfriend, looking less like herself and more like Slightly-Upset Girlfriend. He orders a large popcorn with a large drink.

She arrives, boyfriendless, at your counter thirty-some minutes later, carrying an empty popcorn bag.

“Refill?”

“Yes. Um, I… Do you even know my name?”

You put probably more effort than necessary into pretending that it’s on the tip of your tongue. “No,” you say, when there is no escaping the fact that the popcorn bag is full and you still don’t know her name.

“It’s Alison. I never thought—I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m like this today, it’s just—I had to get out, you know? He’s in there watching _Transformers,_ and I was talking about making reservations for Valentine’s Day the other day—because it’s always a good idea to get a head start on that kind of thing—and he said, ‘If we’re still together then.’ If! I really don’t know if we’re compatible anymore.”

“Ouch.”

“I shouldn’t have dumped that on you,” she says. Her hands are on her face, fingers on the edges of her lips.

“No. It’s fine. Plenty of people come out here to escape.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“So—you don’t think I’m a mess?”

“Nah. You’re a mess. But, I mean, you’re not the only one.”

“Are you?”

“Look at how I’m spending my Friday night.”

“What about next Friday?”

“I’ll be here.”

“You will?”

“Yeah.”

“So will I.”

“Great. See you around.”

She nods, a single sharp movement and walks back to _Transformers._

You wonder if her boyfriend will notice that the popcorn’s not warm.

If he does, he doesn’t say anything. He and Beth walk out an hour later, Alison holding his hand in a rigid kind of way. You’re not sure, but you think he may be cringing.

Alison is true to her word.

She is back at your counter just before eight on Friday. Alone.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

She slides a package of Welch’s fruit snacks toward you. “Just this, please.”

“No popcorn?”

“I never liked it,” she tells you, voice low, like it’s a secret.

“Really?”

“No.”

“$3.28.”

“That’s too much! This same bag was at EconoMart for a dollar.”

“I know. But you could always get a rewards card.”

She smiles (”No, thank you, Beth.”) and hands you the money—just five dollars this time, no fumbling for the perfect change.

“And… your change is $1.72.”

“Thank you.”

“If you want to stop by after your movie—”

“Yes.”

“Great. Enjoy the movie!”

“Mhm.”

Your shift ends before her movie does. You wait on a bench outside the women’s bathrooms until you see her bright pink blouse from behind a man you know _bought_ popcorn but is now failing to carry it to the trash.

“Hi!”

“Hey.”

“You wanted to talk to me?”

“It’s, uh… It’s no big deal or whatever, but… You know, since you came alone, I thought something might be wrong. And I wanted to let you know that you don’t have to pretend to be refilling your boyfriend’s popcorn if you want to talk to me.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she says, sharper than you’d expected. “We didn’t work. It’s fine. I mean, my best friend hates me for it, but it’s fine!”

“Seriously. I can give you my number?”

“Thank you. Yes. Please.”

She takes her phone (the case pink, like her shirt) from her purse, waiting for it to turn on. She smiles again, apologetically, fingers tapping at the rubbery sides. “Here! It’s on.” She purses her lips, opens her contacts, and hands her phone to you.

“Really? I could steal this here and now.”

“You would lose your job.”

“Would I?”

“Didn’t you say you’d be _helping_ me?”

“Sorry. Just some light crime humor.”

“Funny.”

You give her back her phone.

“What’s your last name? That’s how I sort everything. I can’t just have it blank.”

“Childs.”

“C-H-I-L-D-S?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey, it’s fine, okay? I—I know what this shit’s like. Don’t worry about it.”

“I will. But, I will call you.”

“Good.”

“I have to go. I told my roommate—” She laughs at this. “I told her if I’d be home by ten, and if I’m fifteen minutes late, she’s supposed to call the police—”

“Christ.”

Alison looks briefly scandalized, then smiles tightly. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

She waits exactly an hour before she texts you.

_It’s Alison. I didn’t want to call because you’d probably think it was a wrong number, but now I’m hoping you remember me._

You add her to your contacts. _Alison_.

 _Ok,_ you reply, _you’re in my contacts for whenever you want to call._

Thirty seconds later, she does.

“Yeah?”

“Hi.” (Her voice is quieter than you remember. You wonder if her roommate is already sleeping.)

“Hi.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah… Yeah. Be my guest.”

“You can’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Who would I tell?”

“I don’t know. But you can’t.”

“What is it?”

“It’s just—my life is falling apart. I don’t think I have any friends anymore. I mean, all of my friends are Aynsley’s friends, and Aynsley hates me now, and…”

“Is Aynsley the best friend?”

“Yes. She thought Donnie and I would be good together. So did I. But I think she’d just been trying to keep me away from Chad—”

“Chad?”

“Her boyfriend. Sorry. Chad is—” Her voice gets even quieter. “Chad is an asshole, Beth. He keeps trying to hook up with me.”

“Damn.”

“It sounds like I’m on a soap opera. And I don’t even know anything about you. Tell me something about you.”

“I mean, the only post-eighth-grade boyfriend I’ve had was Paul. And that was fine. We were fine. Ended on good terms. Just didn’t work out. It wasn’t really a big deal. I mean, it was a big deal at the time. And there was other stuff going on. But it was whatever.”

“Whatever?”

“Yeah. Just personal shit getting in the way. I don’t know. I’m doing this 5k next weekend.”

“You run?”

“Yeah. I mean, I couldn’t make it professionally or anything, but it helps me clear my head.”

“Can I come with you sometime?”

“Did you totally miss that last part?”

“Oh! If you’d rather— I understand if you want to be alone. I just thought—”

“No, it’s great. I mean, I don’t really plan anything when it’s just me. But if you don’t have anything to do tomorrow…”

“Yes!” (Her voice is higher with this exclamation, and she laughs nervously before continuing.) “I mean, I don’t have any plans. Or… I did. But I don’t anymore. So I would love to.”

“Great. Is noon okay?”

“Mhm. Starbucks at Ossington and Queen? I’ll probably need a coffee.”

“That’ll work.”

“I will see you then.”

“You’re good?”

“Mhm. Bye.”

“Bye.”

She gets there before you, holding a coffee and looking anxiously out the window.

“Beth!”

“Hey.”

“I thought you were going to forget!”

“It’s 11:58.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t trust me?”

“I barely know you.”

“Fair enough. Can I have some of that coffee? I woke up like… ten minutes ago.”

“It’s 11:58.”

“11:59.”

“I was going to say yes.”

“But now?”

“You’re not sick?”

“No.”

She slides the cup over to you. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” Then, “Jesus. Is this even coffee?”

“Yes!” She snatches the cup from your hands, then takes an almost cautious sip from it.

“Oh my God. What did you _get_?”

“Um, white chocolate mocha with cinnamon dolce syrup and…” She covers her face with a hand half-hidden by her jacket’s pink sleeve. “A lot of sugar.”

“Christ.”

Alison is a better runner than she is a coffee-drinker.

“It’s the Shaun T workouts,” she explains. “They’re actually kind of addictive.”

“God. Shaun T? I can’t believe this, Ali.”

“Um… Could you not call me Ali, please?”

“Yeah, sure. Alison, here on out.”

“Thank you,” she says, moving slightly faster now. “Aynsley’s always calling me Ali. It’s nothing personal.”

“Yeah. No problem.”

She turns toward you, face pink, and smiling in a way that makes you think she’s still living in a Nicholas Sparks movie.

She stops ten minutes later, slightly out of breath but beaming. “This is me.”

“By the way,” you say, which is probably a mistake, “I’m not working on Friday. You know, if you were planning on seeing something.”

“Good to know,” she says.

She blows you a kiss and walks inside.

It was definitely a mistake for you to say that.

Alison calls you Friday afternoon. “How do you feel about the new Pixar movie?”

“I feel like there would be a lot of kids there.”

“No, tonight.”

“It sounds pretty okay.”

She sighs at this, you think. “Do you want to come with me?” she asks.

“Sure.”

“Perfect. Is the one at ten okay for you?”

“Yeah.”

“9:30?”

“Sure, yeah. See ya. Bye.”

“Bye.”

She’s standing outside this time, trying to stay out of the way of passersby while avoiding the fairly disgusting garbage cans on either side of the entrance.

“Beth, thank God! I was starting to look like I was up to something, but I couldn’t go in alone—”

“You’ve gotta stop worrying about this shit.”

“I will,” she says. “Just not today.”

Twenty minutes into the movie—there are only five other people in the theater, you notice, a group of thirteen-year-olds and Regular with the Glasses—Alison kisses you.

You think about lemonade and pale pink lipstick and Paul. You don’t stop her, and tell yourself that nothing else is going to happen.

“Isn’t this a little soon?” you whisper, which is soon in itself. (There will come a time when you ask her this again, you think. A time when you hope that she won’t realize that it will _always_ be too soon.)

“Of course,” she says.

She keeps her eyes on the screen for the rest of the movie.

She calls you at one in the morning. You wonder if she knew you were awake.

“I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same way,” she tells you.

“Hey, no,” you say, not sure if it counts as a lie if her feelings are only half different. “I do. I just don’t think you should be getting into this yet. As a friend.”

“A friend,” she repeats. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m trying to fall asleep. We’re good?”

“Of course. Sleep well.”

“Night.”

You stop trying to sleep after five hours.

You get dressed. You run. You try to block everything out. You can’t.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket.

Again _._

“Come on, dipshit, I’m trying to have a moment.”

_“Excuse me?”_

“Shit.” (Art sends you a text.) “I’ve got a fucking social life. I thought you were someone else. What’s up?”

“I was just worried that I’d messed us up. I know it was late before.”

“Alison. It’s fine. Just let me get back to my run, all right?”

“Sorry. Bye.”

“Bye.”

You open Art’s text.

_angie’s tonight? us, janis, raj, madison. maybe colin. some bio majors who spend a lot of time at the theater._

_Maybe,_ you type. _Can I bring someone?_

You grab a spot on a bench and wait for his reply.

_sure. nothing crazy._

_No promises_

You write a new text for Alison.

_Free tonight? I’ll pick you up if it’s a yes._

One, two—

_It’s a yes. :)_

You’re already back from your run when she calls you.

“Beth, thank God. Could you come here a little early? I’m really not sure what to wear. I know it’s silly, but—”

“I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.”

“No big deal. Seven?”

She sounds embarrassed. “Quarter to?”

“Sure. Yeah. Whatever.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

“Love you! Bye!”

“Bye.”

You know that Girls Like Alison™ are supposed to say “I love you” every other word, but a part of you wants to say it back.

(Everything else in you reminds you that it’s not the same. You can be her friend, or her girlfriend, or whatever, but your love will never quite match up with hers.)

Raj kisses her at Angie’s place. Alison smiles almost guiltily, glancing between you and Raj for what seems like forever. You don’t know if you feel jealous, but she whispers something to him, and slides over to you.

She keeps her manicured hand in yours for the rest of the night.

You almost want to tell her that you’re the one who’s meant to feel guilty.

You don’t.

When everything starts to die down, Alison sends her roommate a picture of you accompanied by what feels like the world’s longest text.

 _I know you’re out tonight,_ you see her type, _and I’m not sure that Beth’s fine on her own. (I don’t mean this in a bad way. Beth is looking over my shoulder and making a face.) Anyway, is it okay if she stays at ours tonight?_

It takes ten minutes to get a reply.

_If you trust her, it’s fine._

You shift somewhat uncomfortably to be in Alison’s line of sight. “Do I look untrustworthy?” you ask.

“If you do, so does she,” Angie half-shouts from her kind-of kitchen.

Newly-Tattooed Bio Major, AKA Regular with the Glasses takes issue with this. “I mean, their faces are pretty similar—which is interesting in itself, I guess, because I’m pretty sure you two have something—and they’re basically the same height, but there are a million other things that come into play. Like—”

“We really don’t need your psychoanalysis,” Alison  tells her. “We really don’t. Thank you, Angie.”

“Assortative mating,” Regular with the Glasses fake-coughs.

“Thank you, Angie!” Alison says again, more forcefully.

She drags you out the door.

“What was _up_ with her?”

“It’s none of her business!”

“Seriously, oh my God. What were you saying to Raj, by the way? Here I thought he had a thing for me, right?”

“I told him… I thought it was _unwise_ to be pursuing something so soon after a relationship ended.”

“Right.”

“I did!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Hendrix.”

“I can leave you to fend for yourself.”

“Oh, God! What will I do in this terrifying, affluent Toronto neighborhood?”

“I have pepper spray.”

“Shit, seriously?”

She nods.

You have spent probably too long dreading the day you find yourself in a bed with Alison Hendrix. It isn’t terrible. Neither of you have enough space to sleep or pretend to or keep anything a secret, so you move in a little closer. “You were right,” you whisper.

“About what?”

“It’s stupid.”

“The only reason you know my name is because I came to you to vent about my boyfriend.”

“Ugh.”

“ _Tell me._ ”

“I’m just an even bigger mess than you, okay?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“You can talk to me, too, you know.”

“Yeah.”

Alison looks at you expectantly.

“I know,” you say.

“Say something!”

“Okay. We’re bringing back the seventh grade. Truth or dare?”

“Okay. Only because I want to know what you’re hiding. And dare.”

“Shit.”

“Give me something.”

“Can you take a raincheck on it? It’s too late for my dare.”

“Shoot.”

“Order a real coffee tomorrow.”

“I do get real coffee!”

“You know what I mean.”

“Fine. Truth or dare?”

“Truth. For you. I know you’re dying to interrogate me.”

You hate the word, but it’s what she does; Alison giggles. “What’s keeping you from telling your…” She hesitates, still laughing. “Crush… how you feel about them?”

“Deep, man. But you know. And I’ve told her.”

“Refresh my memory.”

“I’m pretty sure that my telling you kills the question.”

“Are you using your skip?”

“Nah. You’re wasting your question, but whatever. She just got out of a relationship.”

“It was _forever_ ago.”

“It was weeks ago.”

“It was long enough.”

“It’s not gonna work out, okay?”

“Why not?”

“No freebies, Hendrix. My turn.”

“Truth.”

“I don’t have any good material, man.”

“We can go back to you.”

“Okay, uh… Ditto.”

“Ditto?”

“What’s keeping you.”

(You hope for something that will give _you_ an answer. A real one. A reason to _get over it_ and accept that there is no way that you are feeling like this right now—feeling like you’re feeling what you thought you didn’t feel—of course you aren’t—Jesus, you knew you were fucked up.)

(You need a reason to ignore this foreign feeling.)

Instead, you get, “I already did. Or do you not remember?”

“I’m picking truth if that’s your question.”

“It’s not.”

“So?”

“So, what’s the real reason? Why wouldn’t you work?”

“We want different things.”

She looks surprised, which isn’t even all that understandable, because, seriously, she is the _only_ person you’ve ever met who you can imagine being happy in the suburbs. “Do we?” she asks.

“We do.”

“Like what?”

“I mean, right now… Right now, we’re pretty cool.”

“Right now?”

“Save your questions, man.”

“I’m quitting.”

“You’re quitting a seventh-grade sleepover game? What, too hardcore, Hendrix?”

“I’m tired, and I want answers. I know you’ve only known me for a few weeks, but I really do love you, Beth. Maybe it’s in a girlfriend way, or maybe it’s in a _girlfriend_ way. I don’t know. But I don’t want you to keep things from me, okay?”

“I don’t know either.”

“What?”

“I’m kind of sure that I might feel kind of into you in a way that I’m… not into people, but… I’m not into people like that, you know?”

“I don’t.”

“Right. Uh, it’s weird. Which is kind of why I feel like you might… not want to be in a relationship with me if it’s not a… platonic one.”

“I do.”

“This is so awkward. But, uh, I can’t even promise you how I feel about anything beyond, like, light-makeout? Jesus.”

You’re pretty sure she wants to laugh. Instead, she brings her hand between your faces.

“No shit! That’s still a thing?”

“Yep. Promise ring. I know it’s stupid, but I figure it will counteract the whole…” She lowers her voice. “Lesbian thing.”

“Strictly speaking, I don’t know if it counts as lesbianism.”

“All the better,” she says. There’s a kind of smugness to it that you hadn’t expected from her.

“Have you seen _Imagine Me and You?”_

“No.”

“We are continuing this conversation tomorrow. After coffee.”

“Goodnight, Beth.”

“Yeah. Night.”

You’re starting to think that you really should have stood out more at work, but in the end, you sacrifice three weeks’ worth of free time and all the money you would be getting for it in exchange for a showing of _Imagine Me and You_ for two in the dead hours.

“I don’t know why we couldn’t just watch it like _normal people.”_

“You’re kind of supposed to be totally charmed by this.”

“I am.”

“Then sound like it. Come on. I’m trying to make up for being a douchebag here. Show me some love.”

“I don’t even know if the movie’s any good.”

“Just wait.”

She does.

And two hours later, she beats you the the punch.

“Truth or dare?” she asks.

“Asshole!”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Dare.”

You can’t help yourself; you say it with her. “I dare you to love me.”


End file.
